Hunkered down because of an auto-immune disease, a history of respiratory infections and the startling realization, once again, that I am old, now I fret because the news reports that many people are out and about, because I fear small businesses in my neighborhood won’t survive and because local grocery deliveries are fully booked four days out.
These all are locally focused concerns, and I live in San Francisco, which has taken a fairly aggressive stance regarding public safety in this strange time. Yet when out for a solo drive yesterday so the rain could wash my car, through restaurant windows I saw people eating at crowded tables and standing in a bunched-up line outside a popular bistro, with no thought for social distancing.
Isn’t it our civic duty to follow guidelines devised to protect us and to keep hospitals from being overtaxed? Some cities in Italy are out of hospital beds, ventilators and masks. “It’s not a wave. It’s a tsunami,” Dr. Roberto Rona told the PBS News Hour. (www.pbs.org/newshour/health/not-a-wave-a-tsunami-italy-hospitals-at-virus-limit) Rona is in charge of intensive care at a hospital in Monza, just north of Milan. Why would we assume that tsunami won’t reach the U.S.?
I drive back home, convinced I’ve become a common scold. I’ve known for quite a while that I can control only my own actions, but I guess I haven’t yet fully reconciled with that. I have figured out that people are misinterpreting the 14-day period recommended for those exposed to the virus. Some seem to think that dictum means in 14 days, we’ll all be good to go back to our normal lives, that just a two-week break will do it. That’s not what happened in China, Italy or South Korea, and it will not happen here.
On Defiantly Touching My Face
Public and private schools on much of the west coast are now closed, and the practice is spreading east. Universities across the country are shifting to on-line learning for the rest of the semester. The San Francisco Symphony has canceled all concerts through April. Major League Baseball may not resume games until June. Johnny Cueto, a pitcher with the San Francisco Giants, told the San Francisco Chronicle, “Right now, baseball is not important.”
Back at my apartment after my drive through the neighborhood, I place a paper towel between my hand and the stair railing. Once I’m inside, I grab a disinfecting wipe and return to the foyer to clean the railing Just In Case. Then I wash my hands. Next, I indulge in a secret, taboo practice -- I touch my face.
I love to touch my face, though until recently I was never particularly aware of the habit. I smooth my forehead, I massage my eyebrows to ensure better sinus drainage, I rub my cheeks and chin as I open and close my clenched jaw. Then I wash my hands and face and apply a moisturizing mask, because I can’t pretend that I have no time for skincare.
The hard part of all this? The isolation. My card-playing group has canceled our gatherings. Before local theaters closed their doors, I’d resolved not to use my tickets. Meeting friends for lunch or coffee is now out. Instinctively, many baby boomers have turned away from texting and emailing and are reaching out to one another by phone, settling in for long talks about this, that and, of course, COVID-19. We well know the dangers of social isolation, (www.nextavenue.org/science-of-brain-health-inspires-a-storyteller/) and we are doing what we can.
Even harder is missing the soul-satisfying feel of a sturdy hug from my grandson. Two weeks ago, his dad called to say he and my daughter-in-law had realized that the boy, who has brought home many a cold shared at his elementary school, could be an unwitting carrier of the virus. “He could potentially kill you,” my son said. (As I always say, life is too short to be subtle!) He wanted to talk about suspending Nana Day for a while, and hoped I would see the wisdom in the plan.
On Recalling the Good Old Days
I agreed with the plan and replied, “Did you think I would stamp my foot and insist on risking being exposed?” Then I grabbed a tissue to catch the tears dribbling down my face. So the boy and I are apart for now, and maybe for quite some time. We will talk on FaceTime occasionally and I’ve asked him to draw pictures for me. Maybe I’ll mail jokes to him. I miss him in a visceral way.
Today, pondering whether to order a grocery delivery, I fondly recall a personal visit to the store, made over two weeks ago when people were just beginning to stock up. Even then, the check-out lines were so long the manager had to get on the public address system to ask customers to stop "clumping up" at the aisle entrances.
Seeing the crowd, one customer entering the store at 10:20 a.m. quipped, "Wow! Why is everybody up so early?" Some shoppers were dressed for the day, one guy had on flannel pajamas and a woman wore a silver-sequined jacket, possibly from the night before -- or maybe because it’s her normal attire on Sunday mornings. This is San Francisco, after all.
Second best sighting: A man in line with three packs of toilet paper, each 12 double rolls. (Ah, the good old days, when toilet paper was easily available!) Best sighting: A 5-year-old boy doing masterful hip hop moves out front, where his sister was selling Girl Scout cookies. As he didn’t have a tip jar, I gave his mom $2 for the boy to spend on Legos, while his dad proudly revealed his son is self-taught. When I told the little guy what a great dancer he is, he said, "I'm the best dancer in my school."
May he soon be back in school, leading us all in a victory dance. We also can look forward to grocery shelves fully stocked with toilet paper, hand sanitizer and over-the-counter cold remedies. And when it’s safe, may we all be free once again to hug family and friends. Onward to spring!
Posts
.jpg)